GRANNY.

(4 True Story.)

 

By Mrs. Kate Upson Car.

 

HOO, shoo there! Ah, worse luck to yez! An’

it’s peckin’ me tomatties ye’d be afther, is it?

Be off wid ye, the whole botherin’ Granny’s lot of ye!”

And Mrs. Bridget O’Toole shook a dilapidated broom

fiercely at Granny’s innocent-looking flock of hens,

and drove them into the little enclosure where they
belonged.

Then she leaned against the side of the house to
get her breath, looking at her neat garden and_heap-
ing bad opinions upon the marauders who would like
nothing better than to destroy it.

“Ah!” she continued sagely, wagging her head,
_ “a quare world it is, and a quare family is the
O’Tooles!” With this, her favorite bit of generali-
zation, Mrs. O’Toole went back to her kitchen; but
she knew very well that, “ quare” as the O’Tooles
were, many of their more pretentious neighbors in
the village a mile away, might be improved by imita-
ting some of the qualities of that humble family.

Granny’s hens were indeed a great trial to her
daughter-in-law; but so wonderfully did they thrive
and multiply under Granny’s watchful care, that they
were a source of considerable revenue to that dear
old lady; and when Bridget wou'd lose her patience
Granny would hear her out, and then say with the
slyest of winks, and the mellawest of brogues, “ But

I notice that ye liked the dress purty well, Bridget,
me dear, that I bought ye with me egg-money, an’ ye
all seem to relish a roast of thim.”

Which was true, and no doubt the reasons why
the O’Tooles were so completely dominated by
Granny’s hens, that even the daily breakfast had
come to consist, out of deference to them, almost
invariably of “ hasty pudding,” a dish relished alike
by both parties ; and when the family had withdrawn
from the table, Granny, beaming and clucking, would
make her way out to her pets with the abundant
residue:

“Ah, Speckle, me darlint, an’ where was ye the
night? Bridget ’Il have the head off ye for spindin’
ye time in her garden! An’ Rid Top, ye old rascal!
were ye at the tomatties the day? Ye Greedy! give
ye chillern some, an’ git along wid ye! An’ ye little
yeller beauties! to think 0’ so many o’ ye gettin’ out
o’ ye shells so foine an’ hearty!”

The serving up of the family breakfast earlier was
almost as interesting as Granny’s administration of
the remainder to the hens. Mr, Dennis O’Toole,
her son, had inherited the politest of manners from
his father, who had been a butler in a great house
over in the old country, and he waited upon his far
ily with the utmost ceremony. :
229